The Storm

Where one mind stops,
another begins.

Where cutlery shines on plates,
a voice lowers.

One length of forgiveness,
round and round like a child's game
in the dust.

Outside, the rain formalizing.

When we leave we are replaced.

Shaky clouds in lightning,
my shadow alive on the floor.

Then the small passage for sleep.

How green and spidery the sky.

In its net, the dead bees of memory.

Copyright © 2009 Jennifer Moss All rights reserved
from Beast, to Be Your Friend
New Michigan Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission